


Dendrophilia, or, Hardwood is Hardcore

by medrengirl



Series: Inspired by the AO3 Tag Generator [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fixing the Nemeton, M/M, So Many Bad Tree Puns, Spark Stiles, Stiles loves Marvel movies, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Tree Puns, Tree Sex, bad poetry masquerading as spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 19:05:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4403657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medrengirl/pseuds/medrengirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Does this mean we can get out of having sex with a tree and instead go home and have sex in a bed?” Derek asked hopefully. </p><p>Stiles grinned. “Nope. A treesome will still be necessary.”</p><p>---</p><p>Derek isn’t a dendrophiliac. Just because he agreed to have sex with a tree (well, Stiles and a tree) to try and help start a new Nemeton to replace the old, damaged one doesn’t mean he has to like it. </p><p>Stiles, on the other hand, may be a different matter. Because he just won’t leaf those puns alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dendrophilia, or, Hardwood is Hardcore

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the AO3 tag generator prompt “hardcore tree threesome.” And the puns are completely the fault of cursor_mundi, who said she couldn’t live without them. (She also bears responsibility for the sub-title.) 
> 
> In the process of writing this, I have discovered that all my stories except “Snuggle Puppy” belong to the same universe. For the whole universe, follow [Liber Amoris, Or, Stiles and the Natural Humanities](http://archiveofourown.org/series/293093). But to understand this story, all you need are “Manly Tree Spanking” and “Dangerous Pagan Cuddling,” which are linked through the [AO3 Tag Generator](http://archiveofourown.org/series/276765) series.

Stiles was now on a count-down until going back to school. 193 hours until he skedaddled back to Stanford for his second year.

Part of him was looking forward to it. His classes were awesome. He was currently planning on declaring a joint major in computer science and English, with a minor in anthropology. It was ambitious, but he had wanted to find something that would be both practical and fun. And “practical” really meant something different since he was a Spark—and one who wanted to write spells that worked with computer programs to boot.

Stiles still wasn’t sure if it would work—no one had tried it before, as far as he could tell, and that in itself was both shocking and not. Most magic workers were like Deaton, so immersed in the “old ways” that they didn’t see the possibility for connections between the spells and modern technology. Though Stiles had thought surely someone would have gotten the idea after watching Buffy!

Stiles’ one concern was how difficult it would be to convince his computer science professors that the code he wrote could really do all the things he was planning to try to make it do when he worked magic into the mix. And he suspected his English professors didn’t want to know about his own personal definition of “speech act” at all.

So while most of his college friends had been off working internships all over the country, Stiles had been back in Beacon Hills working on figuring out exactly what he could do as a spark and what the extent of his magical powers might become. He had spent two or three days a week training with Deaton and working on wards for the town, with the rest of his time spent reading magical theory, spell books, and bestiaries, hanging out with the pack or his Dad, or (Stiles’ personal favorite) spending time with Derek.

And that was the other part of him, the part that wasn’t quite so thrilled about only 193 hours until going back to school. Going back to school meant leaving his dad and Scott and the pack again, but in a lot ways, it would be really truly leaving Derek behind for the first time.

Stiles still wasn’t completely sure how he’d reached the point with Derek that he had. While he’d been at school, Stiles had known he missed Derek. Derek had been a much bigger part of his life than Stiles had realized. But he hadn’t really thought about Derek as a potential romantic partner at all. Lydia informed him that this had been denial and obliviousness, and that both of them had been pining without realizing it.

Heh. _Pining_.

Ever since they had gotten together because of a tree (well, it was more complicated than that, but tree sap had definitely been a key ingredient in the spell that finally pushed the two of them to acknowledge what was between them), Stiles had been realizing exactly how many tree puns were possible out there.

And now? Now those puns were going to get a full work out. Because, as he had discovered, Derek and Stiles needed to have sex with a tree. A treesome.

One of the things Stiles had been researching this summer was the Nemeton. Usually they were circles of power around a tree that developed naturally. You couldn’t make a new Nemeton from scratch. But you could, theoretically at least, encourage a new one by finding a tree that held the potential for gathering that kind of power to itself and then… well, encouraging it. Given how much trouble the old Nemeton was giving them, Stiles thought (and Deaton agreed) it might be worth a shot.

Stiles really wasn’t sure if he was more excited about the spell, even though it would probably take fifty years for the new Nemeton to fully replace the old, or how much fun it would be to work in all the puns as he convinced Derek to participate.

\---

Derek let Stiles tug him off the porch down towards the jeep. “But we have to get to the root of the problem!” Stiles said.

Derek stopped short on the sidewalk, refusing to budge. “You can’t be serious,” he said, glaring at Stiles.

Stiles looked so innocent as he turned back to look at Derek, but _Derek_ knew better. That was no accident. “What do you mean?” Stiles’ eyes had a suspicious, Bambi-like wideness to them. “I thought we agreed. We’ve got to get something in place to start shifting power away from the Nemeton, and the only way I’m going to be able to do this right is if you help me.”

“That’s not what I meant. ‘Get to the root of the problem’? Seriously?”

“Dude, you’re barking up the wrong tree!” Stiles couldn’t keep the grin off of his face.

Derek raised an eyebrow, completely unimpressed. “Do you want to just get them all out now? Because I’m not sure anything will kill the mood faster for me than you making puns about morning wood or how hard yew are.”

“Oh, Derek, I am so proud.” Stiles wiped a fake tear from his face. “You made your own sex-with-tree joke.”

“That wasn’t mine. That was the pun you used when you offered to convince me to do this by giving me a blow job.” And it had worked, though Derek still wasn’t sure how.

“You poor sap. You even have to steal your jokes. I mean, they’ve been handed to us on a platter. We’re about to have a treesome!” Derek really wasn’t sure how Stiles had kept a straight face with either of those. It had to be killing him inside. Stiles raised his hands in mock surrender when all Derek did was glare in response. “Fine, threesome with a tree.”

“It is not a threesome with a tree.” Derek shoved Stiles towards the Jeep. “We are not going to have sex with a tree.”

“Sure we are,” Stiles laughed as he climbed into the driver’s seat, dropping his bag of supplies in the back. “We will be having sex, the tree will be there, present and passively participating.”

Derek settled into the passenger side seat and crossed his arms. “Just because we have sex in a bed does not mean we are having a threesome with the bed. Inanimate objects do not count.”

“Trees are not inanimate!” Stiles cried gleefully as he started the car and headed towards the preserve. “They are living things. Besides, it’s time for us to branch out, get more variety in our sex life.”

Derek thought that maybe it would be better to just try ignoring the puns. Clearly telling Stiles to stop wasn’t working. And the kid had to run out of them sometime. He hoped. “We’ve been having sex for three weeks.” Derek dropped his voice a register, and slid his hand up Stiles’ thigh. “Surely you can’t think I’ve exhausted all the things I want to do to you?”

Now _that_ got the reaction from Stiles that Derek was looking for. Well, mostly. He hadn’t intended for Stiles to swerve and almost drive his jeep off the road into a ditch. “Jesus, Derek! Don’t _do_ that. At least not while I’m driving!”

This time it was Derek’s turn for an innocent look. If he could get Stiles’ mind off the trees and onto the sex… he stroked his thumb over the seam of Stiles’ pants.

Stiles suddenly got a sly look on his face, and Derek was cringing before Stiles even opened his mouth. “Seriously, Derek, you better leaf me alone, because crashing into a tree would knot even be funny.”

Derek groaned, and pulled his hand back. “That was horrible. I don’t understand how those words are coming out of your mouth.”

“I’ve been saving them up ever since I realized I was going to have to convince you to have sex with me and a tree.” Stiles waggled his eyebrows. It was not sexy, Derek thought. Endearing, _maybe_. Not sexy.

“And you thought _tree puns_ would make me more likely to consent?” Derek really was beginning to question why he lo—liked Stiles so much.

“No, but I was willing to go out on a limb because the puns are so much fun.”

Derek sighed, closed his eyes, and leaned his head against the window.

\---

“Okay,” Stiles rubbed his hands together. “This is how this is going to need to work. First, we need to find an appropriate tree. Hardwood. Because we’re going to have sex with it.”

“Stiles, be serious.”

Stiles followed as Derek headed further into the Preserve. “I am serious! The Nemeton was a live oak. We need something similar. If we could find another live oak, that would actually be best. They can live for centuries, if some asshole doesn’t cut them down.” Stiles scowled. “They symbolize power and life. They’re supposed to be stabilizing influences, and it’s only because things went so horribly wrong in all the worst ways that the Nemeton is destabilizing things now. And since like calls to like, if we can find another live oak, it might be able to take over from the Nemeton more easily than something else.”

“If we can’t find one?” Derek asked as he leapt over a fallen tree.

Stiles shrugged as he followed Derek over, not as gracefully, but without falling on his face, which he counted a win. “A redwood might do, because again, really long lived and therefore a symbol of stability. But it wouldn’t be a hardwood, and so wouldn’t have the same affinity with the old Nemeton to help balance things. But we can’t just find _any_ tree. It has to be one that already has the potential to build up the right kinds of energy.”

“Once we find the right tree, then what?”

Stiles hefted his backpack with all his supplies. “Then I set up a circle and build a magical connection to the tree using more bad poetry that doubles as a ritual spell. We have sex in the circle, and then hope for the best.”

“That’s it?” Derek raised an eyebrow as he stepped over a fallen log.

“Yup. This is basically just our attempt to jumpstart a process that would otherwise take hundreds of years. The current Nemeton would eventually lose its power and because it’s not actually alive anymore, unless it keeps getting infusions from people dying on it.” Stiles stole a look at Derek, hoping that this wouldn’t hit too close to home. The last thing Stiles wanted was for Derek to blame himself _more_ for what had happened with Paige. Derek didn’t seem too distraught, but he was hard to read sometimes. “After a few decades, another tree would start to take over the energies and balance things out.”

“The Nemeton had been dormant for decades before I…” Derek paused, and then plowed ahead, “before Paige. Wouldn’t the process have already started?”

Stiles stumbled to a halt. “Oh my god.”

Derek turned around to see what happened. “What?”

“You are brilliant!” Stiles grabbed Derek’s face and kissed him.

When he let go, Derek raised an eyebrow. “I’m not complaining, but what was that for?”

“If we’re lucky, there’s a tree out here that had already started to take over the energy patterns! If it was disrupted by the reawakening of the Nemeton, we might just need to restart it the process!”

“Does this mean we can get out of having sex with a tree and instead go home and have sex in a bed?” Derek asked hopefully.

Stiles grinned. “Nope. Treesome will still be necessary. Now, come on. Let’s find a tree.”

\---

Finding the right sort of tree was harder than Derek expected. He was keeping his eye (and nose) out for redwoods and live oaks that might have been around for more than a few decades. Stiles was keeping his spidey-sense, as he called it, peeled for the right sorts of energies. Every so often, Stiles would just stop, close his eyes, do nothing for a moment or two, and then shake his head and move on.

They’d been hiking through the Preserve for several hours before he heard Stiles take a sharp breath. “Derek,” he whispered.

Derek turned around. Stiles was looking off the path they’d been on, deep into the woods, though Derek didn’t see anything in particular. “What is it?”

“Do you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“This way.” And Stiles was off, headed through the underbrush.

Derek didn’t question it, but just followed. It wasn’t long before they were in a clearing, ringed by sugar pine and white fir, rocky mountain maples and alder.

“I’ve taken a lichen to this one!” Stiles announced, as he pointed at the tree in the center of the clearing. It was a live oak, probably thirty feet high, and spread even wider. Young, for a live oak. And so very, very alive. The smell of it was almost intoxicating.

“Do you feel it now?” Stiles asked.

And Derek could, now. At the old Nemeton, the energy in the air constantly felt harsh, like his nerves were being abraded, becoming overly sensitive. Here, it was the opposite, a light, soothing tingle like menthol on the tongue.

“Is this what a Nemeton is supposed to feel like?” Derek asked.

“I think so.” Stiles walked around the tree, running his hand around the trunk, and looked back at the clearing. “There’s practically a circle here already. The tree is old enough to put a ring on it!” When Derek only rolled his eyes instead of responding to the pun, Stiles pouted briefly before he continued. “It had to have been well on its way to becoming a Nemeton before the old Nemeton woke back up. It feels like it’s sleeping, but not totally dormant. Cat-napping, maybe. I think we can get it going again.”

Derek came up and touched the oak. “How come I never noticed it?” he asked. “I thought I knew the Preserve like the back of my hand.”

“When they aren’t dying and desperately trying to keep themselves going by getting people to sacrifice themselves so they can survive, Nemetons don’t want people to just stumble on them. You have to be looking for them,” Stiles explained, then opened his backpack.

Derek watched as Stiles pulled out supplies. First was a blanket. He raised an eyebrow. Stiles flushed. “Just because I want us to have sex with a tree doesn’t mean I think splinters are sexy,” he said as he spread the blanket down on the ground at the base of the oak.

Derek nodded. “Civilized outdoor sex, got it.”

“Well, if you prefer, I can climb you like a tree.” Stiles grinned. “I’ve always wanted to say that, because it’s kinda true.”

Derek side-eyed Stiles. “We’re nearly the same height.”

“Your trunk is bigger. And I mean that in all the best ways,” Stiles leered. He sat on the blanket and toed off his shoes and socks, and gestured for Derek to do the same. Then he reached back into his bag and pulled out a bottle of lube and some baby wipes.

Derek raised an eyebrow. “No condoms?”

Stiles looked up, startled. “I’m clean, you can’t catch or carry anything, and neither of us can get pregnant, right?”

Derek shifted so he could sit beside Stiles. “It’s fine with me. Just, we haven’t done that before. And usually you make a point of wanting to talk things through before we try them.” In fact, Derek occasionally thought Stiles was _overly_ concerned with making sure he had Derek’s consent whenever they tried anything new. Not that Derek didn’t appreciate it—he did. More than even Stiles probably knew. But Derek sometimes suspected it was more a function of Stiles needing to be talking constantly than the need to check in.

Stiles sighed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to blindside you. I didn’t even think about it, because the ritual kinda requires we don’t use them? Sex magic doesn’t really work without the exchange of bodily fluids. I, uh, assumed you knew that.”

Derek shrugged, and bumped his shoulder companionably against Stiles’. “I hadn’t been thinking about this in terms of magic so much as just sex with you. But like I said, it’s fine with me.”

“Well, good.” Stiles brightened. “Okay, those are the sex supplies, time for the magic.” Out of his bag, he pulled a jar of—

“Is that mountain ash?” Derek asked.

“It’s ash, but not mountain ash-ash. It’s my own mix. Birch, for rebirth and renewal. Cedar, for longevity and protection. Cherry, for grounding. I’ll use this to make the circle to keep the sex magic concentrated here.” Stiles opened the jar and stood. He closed his eyes briefly, and then flung the ash outward, where it did the thing where it landed in a perfect circle around them. Derek always found that spooky, and he was a _werewolf_.

“Next we need to make the connection to the tree.” Stiles held out his hand to Derek. “Hold my hand and touch the tree with your other hand.”

When Derek touched the tree, nothing happened. But then Stiles placed his hand on the tree, and a shock ran through Derek. Stiles grinned. “We just completed the circuit-tree!” Derek almost huffed a small laugh, but just managed to suppress it. He didn't want to encourage Stiles.

“The spell…” Stiles started, then paused. “Please don’t laugh. I couldn’t find any pre-existing ones that fit, and I really, really suck at writing poetry.”

“For an English major, you do write surprisingly bad poetry,” Derek said.

Stiles glared. “That’s because I spend most of my time writing _code_ , not poetry. Totally different genres. My poetry may suck, but by the time I’m done with my degree, my gorgeous code will be the envy of poets everywhere.”

Derek gave Stiles a skeptical look.

Stiles sighed. “Okay, fine, the envy of programmers everywhere.” Then Stiles took a deep breath, and his voice dropped to that register that Derek was starting to associate with his magic. It was low and guttural and had a power that felt like gentle thunder rolling across Derek’s skin.

_Live Oak, unseen roots our foundation_  
_Live Oak, broad trunk our sustentation_  
_Live Oak, spread limbs our protection_  
_Live Oak, green leaves our adumbration_

_Together, the anchor of Beacon Hills_  
_Shaping our destiny, never harmed by ill will._  
_Gathering force, flow mighty and strong_  
_Becoming the Nemeton before long._  


_Receive from us a wide-hand offering_  
_In the form of our bodies joining_  
_From us, let new hope and power rise_  
_Live Oak, hear our cries._

Another shock ran through Derek this time, and Derek didn’t know how he knew, but it felt like a reply. And, for the first time, he really believed this might work. That this might actually start the process of shifting the power away from a Nemeton that went out of its way to draw evil to Beacon Hills for its own power. “Apparently the tree doesn’t care if your poetry is bad,” Derek said as he rubbed his fingers across the bark of the tree.

Derek saw Stiles echo his movement, sliding his own hand along a ridge in the bark. Derek wasn’t sure why, but it made him shiver. “It wouldn’t,” Stiles said. “Intent and belief, dude. Intent and belief. Language is just the focus for us humanoids.”

“If we had found a redwood instead of a live oak, would you have used that same poem?”

“No, I had an equally bad but different poem prepped for that eventuality. Don’t worry, you will never, ever hear it.”

“Good.” Derek ran his other thumb over the inside of Stiles’ wrist—and was startled when he realized that the tree above him moved as if blown by a slight breeze, even though he could not feel any breeze himself. He almost pulled his hand back from the tree, but then realized he wasn’t sure what that would do to the spell. “Can we let go?”

Instead of answering, Stiles just pulled his hand back from the tree, so Derek did the same.

“Now what?” Derek asked.

Stiles grinned. “Do you know why all the trees do it doggy style, Derek?”

Derek shook his head. “I’m not answering that.”

“Because of all the bark!”

Derek lunged at Stiles, muscling him down to the blanket with surprising gentleness. “Remember what I said about how your puns would kill the mood?” he whispered in Stiles' ear, even as he ground their hips together.

Stiles stuttered out a breathless, “Ye-ah…”

“At this point, you should really start caring about the mood.”

“But—“

Derek cut Stiles off with a kiss, just hard enough to shut Stiles up and get his attention. Then he pulled back, brushing his lips more softly against Stiles’. “No more puns.”

Stiles didn’t even respond, just pulled Derek back in for another kiss, this one deep and wet and tasting sweet and—green? Derek pulled back. “Do you taste that?”

“What?” Stiles asked, confused.

“When we kissed. It tasted… green. How can I taste a color?”

Stiles leaned up for another kiss, licking at Derek’s lips, and his eyes widened. “It’s sweet, but… green.”

“This is weird,” Derek decided. He started to roll off of Stiles, but Stiles held on and rolled with him.

“No, no, I think this is right! We’re supposed to be connected to the tree by the spell. I think this is how it’s supposed to be.” Derek stared up at Stiles, who was now pulling off his shirt, leaving his lean, pale chest exposed and all Derek wanted to do was touch it. If Stiles said this was what was supposed to happen, Derek was happy to leave the magic to him and just go with the sex. He knew what he was doing with sex.

He set his hands on Stiles’ hips just above his jeans. “This isn’t going to get weirder, is it?”

Stiles shrugged, but smiled. “No guarantees. I’ve never had a threesome with a tree before.” He paused. “Notice what I didn’t call it that time.”

Derek smiled up at Stiles. “I noticed. Now get back down here and kiss me again.”

\---

Stiles swooped down and kissed Derek hungrily. The taste of green was pervasive, now that he was focused on it, but it didn’t taste bad, just different. And there was a new smell, oaky and warm.

“You know,” Stiles muttered between kisses, “I wasn’t totally joking about the doggy style.”

“Oh?” Derek asked. Stiles squirmed as he felt Derek stroke his hands down until they reached Stiles’ ass, squeezing gently, and he sighed happily at the feeling.

“Yeah. I really want you inside me,” he said as he pressed a kiss to Derek’s neck. “And at least one of us needs to be touching the tree. So, if we don’t want splinters in my back, doggy style is probably the way to go.”

“I think we can manage that. But first,” Derek said as he slid his hands under Stiles’ clothes, “we should get naked.”

“Oh, yes, definitely,” Stiles said as he pressed his forehead into Derek’s shoulder at the feeling of those fingers stroking down, pushing his jeans and underwear down together. “You, too,” he said when his pants were off, and he started tugging at Derek’s clothing.

Derek upended the two of them, stripping himself quickly and efficiently until the two of them were both naked, on their knees, chest to chest. Stiles leaned forward and pressed his lips against Derek’s again, stroking his hands down Derek’s broad chest. When his fingers reached Derek’s nipples, he stroked them gently, enjoying the way that Derek moaned into his mouth at the touch. It never failed to turn Derek on—or Stiles, for that matter. It was only moments before they were both breathing hard, and just generally _hard_.

Derek got his hand between them, and then he was gripping Stiles’s cock and for a few moments all Stiles could do was pant and feel as Derek stroked.

“That work for you?” Derek asked, even as he kissed Stiles’ shoulder, keeping his grip sure as he moved his hand up and down.

“So good,” Stiles sighed. “I love your hands on me. All I ever want is your hands on me.”

Derek pulled back. “All?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe not all.” Stiles gave him an impish grin. He pushed his whole body in to lean against Derek as he kissed him. He reveled in the heat and silky softness of Derek’s chest, the slight abrasion of his stubble against his chin. When he pulled back, he asked, “Do you want to prep me, or should I do it?”

“My job,” Derek growled. Stiles laughed as Derek manhandled him onto his hands and knees, the latter still on the blanket but close enough to the tree that Stiles’ hands rested on one of the roots. He stroked his hand along the root, and felt Derek shudder behind him. He laughed again, this time in near disbelief.

And then there was the sound of the lube being opened, and Derek was behind him, touching him, and Stiles choked on his laughter as it turned into a whimper at the feeling of Derek’s fingers slicking lube across his hole, and a finger starting to fill him, and Derek’s mouth on his back, kissing in a pattern that Stiles had only last week realized was Derek tracing the moles on his back. The touch was even more electric than normal, the magic adding its own edge to what was already a pretty fantastic sensation.

Suddenly Derek stilled. “Stiles?”

“What? Why’d you stop?” Stiles craned his neck to look at Derek, who was clearly nonplussed.

“The tree,” Derek said. “It’s touching me.”

Stiles looked further back, and, wow. One of the tree’s branches, which had been several feet above their heads when they started, was somehow lower, and its leaves were just brushing Derek’s back. _Oh_. “You okay? I told you this was going to be a threesome, but I didn’t know the tree was going to be quite this involved.”

Derek huffed, “As long as it keeps its hands above my waist, I’ll be fine.” Stiles laughed at that, but Derek continued, “It feels weird, but… not bad. Weirdly nice. I just don’t want it surprising me.”

Stiles looked at the tree. Without poetic form and practice, it was harder to get his words to have the same power, but Deaton had told him that it would get easier the more he did it. He tried to place just a little magical force behind his words, giving them intent and belief. “Hear that? _Above the waist. And be_ _gentle_.” The tree rustled, and Stiles watched wide-eyed as the branch lifted and waved, pulling back, but then it stroked gently across Derek’s shoulders—and Stiles realized that he could feel something stroking across his shoulders, too. And it felt _good_.

“Holy shit,” Stiles breathed. He really _had_ thought the tree would be a passive participant, not an active one, but this was even more than just being active. It was being _responsive_ , and amplifying everything—and somehow communicating it between the two of them.

And then Derek was moving again, stroking inside Stiles, just starting to stretch him, and the Derek slid the tip of one finger against Stiles’ prostate. “Ahhh—” Stiles keened, and he wasn’t sure if the tree in front of him shuddered, or if it was just his vision blurring.

\---

Derek felt a bit like he was spinning out of control. He was used to being able to focus on Stiles, push everything out of his mind except that as they had sex. But his focus kept getting shattered, first pulled back out to his own body as the tree swept a leaf over his shoulder, and then back to Stiles when he realized that everything he was feeling from the tree, Stiles was feeling the same. And it was like the tree’s touch was turning every inch of his back and shoulders into the most sensitive erogenous zone he had.

At least, that’s what it felt like until Stiles gripped the root in front of him a bit harder, and all of a sudden Derek couldn’t stop the cry from leaving his mouth.

Derek wasn’t surprised that Stiles had figured out what was going on, but he was surprised by how absurdly real it felt. Stiles’ hands were stroking the root in a pattern like the one he usually used on Derek’s dick, and even though those wonderful hands weren’t anywhere near his cock, it was Derek’s turn to keen.

“Slow—slow down, Stiles,” Derek gritted out, “I’m getting close.”

“Then you better get inside me soon, because I don’t think I can hold out much longer either,” Stiles said, pushing back against Derek a little. Derek slipped another finger inside Stiles in response. Stiles was hot and tight around him, but he was loose enough that Derek reached for the lube again with his other hand.

Then all Derek could feel was his cock sliding into Stiles, and the feelings were somehow more intense and focused than ever, but at the same time spread over his entire body. It was unlike any sex he’d ever had before, and he struggled to make sure it didn’t push him over the edge too soon. Stiles cried out and rocked back onto him, slurring, “More, more.” Derek found himself gripping Stiles' hips, trying to give Stiles exactly what he asked for.

“Oh, god, Derek,” Stiles sobbed out as Derek thrust hard. “Derek, you have to come first. For the spell. Oh, please—”

And the tree was _there_ , mixing with the smell and taste of Stiles, tingeing everything with green and oak and life, and somehow Derek didn’t mind coming first at all as he shouted Stiles’ name.

It was almost startling how little it took for Stiles to come after him, just a few strokes and he was crying out—and suddenly Derek didn’t even feel like he was even in his own body anymore. He felt gigantic, and spread out, like the air and magic were moving through his cells, and he realized it was because _this_ was what it felt like to be the live oak spread out above them.

Stiles had to be be punch drunk on the magic and his own orgasm, or maybe it was just classic Stiles, but the first words out of his mouth were a hoarse, “We are Groot.”

Derek couldn’t do anything but giggle—and he hated when he giggled—and pull both of them back onto the blanket. The effects of the spell were dying down. Derek felt like he was coming back into his own skin. The tingle of menthol was still there, but somehow more vibrant and deeper. “Did it work?” he asked Stiles.

“I think so.” Derek watched as Stiles closed his eyes and breathed deep. “Oh,” Stiles said, sounding surprised. “It definitely worked.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I can actually _feel_ the energy patterns shifting. This is good.” Stiles shifted a bit so he could look Derek in the eye. “I think the old Nemeton is finally well and truly stumped.”

Derek could only groan and bury his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck.

 _Fin_.


End file.
